


Savour the taste, sweetheart

by treehousq



Series: that western AU janti fic i did and other stuff along with it [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Western, Anti Has a Different Name, Antisepticeye Sean McLoughlin, Based on a Tumblr Post, Country & Western, Dreams and Nightmares, Family Loss, Flashbacks, Gang Violence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Fandoms Not Mentioned in Tags, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Past Character Death, Possible smut, Sean McLoughlin Egos, Sean McLoughlin is Called Jack, Sexual Tension, Tags May Change, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:26:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24550789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treehousq/pseuds/treehousq
Summary: Jack took a swig from the flask, lips wrapped around the opening even as he angled back down, and when he finally let go he licked his reddened lips, maintaining eye contact with the raven-haired man. He swallowed graciously, slowly, deliberately.Almost as if it weren't the alcohol he was trying to savour.
Relationships: Anti/Jack, Antisepticeye/Jacksepticeye, Sean McLoughlin/Sean McLoughlin
Series: that western AU janti fic i did and other stuff along with it [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739482
Kudos: 8
Collections: Youtube AU’s, Youtube Fanfiction





	Savour the taste, sweetheart

Hot. That’s all Anti could describe it as. The kind of sweltering heat that left you dripping with sweat within mere minutes of daring to stand up to the sun’s wrath. He knew the constant dreary drivel of Ireland must have been boring for his mother, but the hot and humid climate of America was far worse than Ireland’s seemingly never ending downpours.

The impossibly loud buzzing sound that the cicadas provided gave the tired man a distraction, something to focus on in the background as he slowly trekked down the dusty trail. The ground beneath the man’s scuffed up boots was blistering hot, practically seeping through the soles and boiling his feet in his own sweat, he figured it’d be best to try and ignore the sick squelching sound coming from them, it’d been a couple days since he’d been able to eat, and throwing up anything that could possibly be left in his shrivelled stomach would not be good. Dehydration was not something he fancied having to deal with.

Anti looked up to the sky, ignoring the uncomfortable and brief sting of sweat slipping down his forehead and straight into his right eye, the sun was just about to drop below the mountains ahead of him, meaning it could only be about seven or eight o’ clock, so he’d have to find a spot away from the trail to spend the night soon. He took one of his calloused hands and ran it lazily through his sweat-slicked and matted hair, trying to keep it out of his face as he focused on the seemingly never-ending trail he was walking down. A few strands of ebony black hair fell right back in front of his face, but he was far too tired to try and move his arm that much again. He desperately needed to find water, he couldn’t go another day without it without collapsing, and he surely didn’t want to die out here.

Especially not after what Mama said to him that night.

The Irishman huffed, feeling his muscles fueled by a new sort of energy, it was temporary and he knew that, so by God he was gonna take advantage of his anger issues. He walked faster and with more determination, going from a pathetic stagger to at least an average stride. At this rate he figured he’d have to run up on a town or something of the sort by nightfall, after so much walking he doubted that he wasn’t going to at least _some_ sort of sign of people.

Anti tried to keep from clenching his fists, wanting to reserve as much energy as possible, he couldn’t let his anger get too out of control, he knew what people who got too angry did. He’d prefer keeping away from that as much as possible. Anti felt his teeth grind against each other, gritting in anger as sour memories replayed behind his eyes.

He couldn’t tell how long he’d been in his head, reliving older days too wretched to really keep so close to his subconscious, but at some point a noise broke him out of it. The distant whinny of a tired horse was suddenly Anti’s motivation to continue moving forward as the anger in his system slowly boiled down.

His eyesight was fairly good, his Mama had said so many a times, but after being without food and water for a while, he had to rely on his intuition that the smudged colours of brown and black in the distance had to be horses, and as he got closer, he noticed the fuzzy outline of a farmhouse and a large barn. He would have gasped in relief had his throat not been drier than the ground he stomped on. He made his way up to the farmhouse as quick as he could without collapsing or getting sick, and he wasted no time rapping against the rough wood of the door as he prayed someone would be here to help him.

Footsteps sounded from inside. Heavy footsteps. Anti backed up a bit, awaiting the sudden burst of the door being swung open and a rifle pointed at his face. But instead, he got a kind face with gentle words.

“Well by golly,” A thick American accent, not quite as country as Anti had been expecting, but he could tell that his own accent might shock the older man in front of him. “You look like you been through hell and back, boy.”

Anti knew that the man in front of him had to be quite a bit older than he was, but being called “boy” didn’t sit too well with the younger man, for more reasons than he’d care to elaborate if he were to tell the man this.

“Whatcha doin’ ‘round here?” The older man crossed his arms, his long sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows and his pits sweating maybe only a quarter of how much Anti was currently. Anti doubted his voice would work too well, but he had to try.

“I’m lookin’ for a place to stay, sir.” Anti could tell his accent wasn’t expected, but it seemed as if the man wasn’t necessarily all too bothered by it. And while Anti doubted this man was over maybe ten years older than him, he still felt it proper to address him as “Sir” for the time being.

With a cocked brow and a glance over Anti’s appearance, the man spoke. “What’s your name, son?”

This is where Anti bit his tongue in thought, he could tell the man his middle name, the name he’d been called all his life by others besides his mother and brother and friend, or he could go with the nickname an old friend came up with when they were just tots.

He decided on the nickname, licking his dry lips with what little saliva still remained in his tongue. “My name’s Anti.” It hurt to speak, his voice still shaky and weak.

“Anti? That’s an odd name ya got there, but I guess I don’t know quite too much about y’all’s names and stuff over there.” 

_‘Over there’_? Did he know where Anti was originally from? Before his mother had them move to America? 

Anti stopped before his worrying could get the best of him, it’s not like his accent was exactly good at keeping people from knowing he was Irish.

Anti nodded silently, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his head, he wiped at his slickened forehead. The man took notice. “The name’s Chase Brody. Why dontcha come on in for some water? You look like you could certainly use some.” He walked inside, Anti nodding gratefully as he slowly stepped inside, completely taken aback by how the house seemed to be so much cooler compared to the woodfire it felt like outside.

Naturally, Anti shut the old wooden door behind him, following the man into a fairly spacious kitchen area. Chase held a hand out in the direction of a sturdy looking wooden chair, a bit scuffed around the legs but other than that it looked fairly in good shape. Anti pulled it out from under the table and took a seat, watching as Chase came back with a glass of cold water, watching the droplets slide down the side of the cup. Anti graciously took it, flashing the blonde a grateful look before gulping at least half of the drink in just a few seconds. He didn’t want to throw it up immediately, so against all of his survival instincts, he set it down and nodded silently at Chase.

“Thank you, sir.” Anti’s voice was still dry and quiet, but his throat was certainly relishing in the much awaited hydration.

Chase smiled, tipping his hat kindly and turning around to mess with something on the kitchen counter. “Sure thing, Anti.” Anti tried not to stare, he’d surely not want to come across as rude to the only person he’d seen in days.

“So, if ya don’t mind me askin’,” Chase sat down in the chair across from Anti, the raven-haired man took notice that there were four chairs. “What’s got you out here all by ya lonesome? Ya headed somewhere?”

Anti shook his head, slicking his hair back again as it flopped into his face. “No sir, I’ve been travelling for two days outside with no food or water. My Ma and little brother were killed a few days ago by some bandits.” Chase seemed taken aback at how calmly Anti said that. Yes, Anti very much missed his Ma and little brother, but he learned from a young age that letting things hang over your head for a while won’t help anything.

“Well by god, I’m sorry to hear that. Such a damn shame.” Anti nodded absentmindedly, his eyes bouncing around the house.

“Is there...” Anti said a little louder, feeling his voice start to come back a little bit, “Is there anything I could help out with around here?”

Chase cocked a brow, his toned arms resting on the rough wood of the table. “I’m sure me and my boys could use some help ‘round the farm, especially with the animals. Ever since my wife left we’ve had quite a bit of trouble wranglin’ them up. She always was the only one who was able to tend to ‘em.” Anti thanked whatever higher power was helping him right now.

“Well I'm pretty good with animals. I took care of the few we had back home. I’ll help you out with them if you can give me a place to sleep and a meal at least once a day.” It seemed like a fair exchange. And Chase seemed to think so too as he nodded, holding out a calloused hand to the younger man to shake. Anti smiled, shaking his hand firmly and then drinking the rest of his water afterwards.

Footsteps clambering down the wooden stairs snatched Anti’s attention. A thin brunette who looked pretty young in comparison to Anti and Chase rounded the corner, stopping as soon as he registered Anti was there.

“Ah Jack! Anti this is one of my sons, Jack.” Anti nodded in Jack’s direction, his gaze piercing into the brunette. “Hey there bucko, think you can show this young man here to the barn? Make sure you get some of the quilts and a pillow from the closet.” The brunette, Jack, met Anti’s gaze, a small smile that held a lot more behind it than just genuine kindness stretching across his lips.

“Sure thing, Chase.” Anti immediately picked up on the partially watered down Irish accent. Another Irish person in these parts was rare. Anyone who wasn’t raw country was rare, honestly. Immigrants weren’t taken to kindly around here, kind of just the thing to do. Anti was always apprehensive about talking because of how thick and obvious his accent was. He’s found himself in quite a few altercations just because some guy thought that because he was born and raised in the dirt of these lands he was so much better than Anti.

“Now Anti,” Chase clapped Jack’s back. “How old are ya?”

“I’m twenty-five.” Anti noticed Jack’s eyes flick back up to him.

“Alright. I hope you understand why you’re in the barn, Jack here is the only one above eighteen. My other boy ain't _young_ young, but I still put my family first.”

“I understand, sir. I’m mighty grateful for you doin this for me at all.” Chase smiled at Anti, clapping Jack’s back again, causing the brunette to grunt, and he sent Jack and Anti on their way. Jack jogged over to a closet in the hallway and dragged out three quilts, not one of them thick, but they certainly looked warm enough to keep him from dying from the cold at night. The brunette grabbed a small pillow too and tried to toss it on top of the medium sized pile he had in his arms, making a noise of annoyance when the pillow tumbled off the top.

“‘ere, let me get it.” The raven-haired man was already bending over and picking it up, even with Jack trying to protest. When Anti stood back up with the pillow tucked under his arm, Jack had a look of stubborness furrowing his thick brows.

Anti cocked a brow in return, his eyes flicking over Jack’s struggling form, as if he were going to drop the quilts at any moment. Neither needed to say anything, Jack just smiling and shaking his head as he made his way to the front door, trying to open it with his elbows like some kind of clueless jackrabbit. Anti rolled his eyes with the tiniest of grins, walking over and opening the door for him, keeping down the small chuckle that tried to escape when Jack gave him that same stubborn look. Anti jerked his head in the direction outside, telling him to just lead the way. They were on the porch and about to head down the stairs when someone called Jack’s name suddenly.

“Jack! It’s starting to get dark, you’re gonna need a lantern.” Chase was holding a lantern out, already lit and seemingly with a full container of oil. Anti instinctively reached out, considering Jack was already struggling with just the quilts, and grabbed the lantern. Chase also held out a small loaf and an apple.

“I know it ain’t much, but we weren’t gonna be able to have dinner ‘till tomorrow anyway.” He smiled apologetically.

Anti thanked him and followed Jack to the barn on the other end of the farm. The barn itself seemed in great shape, although pretty much everything around the farm seemed to be in excellent shape to Anti, he didn’t grow up in a house with much. They had to hope and pray to God each winter that the roof wouldn’t cave in on them and that they wouldn’t freeze to death.

They reached the barn and Anti noticed that the windows and even the big double-door entrance all seemed to be barred shut, as evident when Jack had to set the things in his arms down on the ground in order to open the doors.

“What’s with the planks?” Anti asked with a low voice, still not feeling like it had been fully restored yet. It had some volume to it finally though, still a bit gruff and scratchy, but more present than before. It’d lost its wheeze.

Jack made a strained sound as he tried to set the bar down, instead giving up and just letting it thud onto the dirt. “Been getting windy most nights, Chase has us close up the windows and such to keep them from getting ripped off in the night. Spooks the horses too if the wind gets too bad and starts makin’ the windows slam.” Jack led Anti in the barn, said horses already in their stables and a couple of them asleep. He walked over to the side and walked up some steep and makeshift stairs to the loft. Anti had to admit it was the sturdiest looking loft he’d ever seen, especially considering the amount of hay they had stashed up there. Jack sat down the quilts on a nearby bale of hay and dragged other bales to make a rectangle base, to which he draped one of the quilts over them. He took the other two and unfolded them and laid them over the first one, folding the top of the first back a bit to serve as the blankets.

“There ya go!” Jack clapped his hands, looking back to Anti with a sigh and a quick glance over.

Anti would pretend he hadn’t seen it. “Thanks Jack.”

Jack shrugged, huffing a bit as he grabbed the oil lamp from Anti and placed it on a metal hook on the wall away from the other bales of hay. “Be sure not to knock that thing off or spill it. Don’t want a fire in here.” The brunette winked. Anti couldn’t tell if it was playfully or not, honestly.

“ _Ha ha_ , sure thing _bucko_.” Anti mocked back playfully, removing his tattered and dirty button up and tossing it on a nearby hay bale.

The brunette made a sound of distaste in response to the nickname. “Don’t ever call me that ya Irish bastard.”

“Last I checked you were Irish yourself lad.” Anti cocked his brow, folding his top.

Jack rolled his eyes. “How could ya tell?”

“Your accent. You’re not as converted to the southern dialect as you might think you are. Especially to someone who has your accent three times as good.”

“Guess I forgot others can still hear it. Just about no one comments on it.”

The raven-haired man looked at Jack with a look that was partially confused. “Where I’m from I used to get into fights on the daily ‘cause people don’t take too kindly to immigrants.”

“Jesus.” Jack muttered. Anti shrugged, feeling the sweat from his back start to slowly dissipate as it got colder outside.

Jack noticed the scars all on the older man’s torso and back, just about his entire lower abdomen had some sort of scar adorning the pale and otherwise smooth skin. Beauty marks speckled here and there all over. He resisted asking about it.

“What time do y’all get up around here?” Anti asked as he placed his hands on his hips, the feeling of the dirty denim under his fingertips less than pleasant, but he wasn’t undressing to his undergarments in front of this boy. Well, he was over eighteen, so technically not a boy, but he looked quite a bit younger than Anti himself.

Jack seemed to snap back into reality, Anti didn’t feel like questioning where his attention had been previously. “God, it’s weird hearing you say _‘y’all’_ in such a thick Irish accent. I only ever hear it in the real country accents.” Anti rolled his eyes. “But we get up ‘round seven or seven-thirty depending.”

The raven-haired man nodded as he let his gaze drift elsewhere, standing there silently as Jack twiddled his fingers awkwardly, standing in front of Anti's makeshift bed.

“Well, I’m guessin’ it’s about your bedtime kid, better scurry inside befote your Pa gets your ass.” Anti tried to clear the awkward tension in the air, looking back to see Jack’s slightly flushed face.

“‘M not a _kid_ , ya _grandpa_.”

“I’m twenty-five, lad. You’re like, what, sixteen?”

Jack puffed out his cheeks, it was adorable. “I’m nineteen you fuck! Stop callin’ me 'kiddo.'” Anti nodded and ruffled Jack’s hair just to piss him off further.

“Well I’m gonna head to bed. I’ve been out in the wilderness for about three days without proper rest, so scoot.” Jack crossed his arms and stomped off to the stairs.

“‘Night ya ancient bastard.” Jack muttered on his way down.

“Goodnight, kid.” Anti called back with a smirk. He waited for Jack to exit the barn and close the door before he knocked off his boots and stripped himself down to his undergarments. He blew out the lamp and lied down on the first quilt, pulling the other two over him and sighing deeply. His body began practically melting into the comfort. Sure, a thin quilt over bales of hay wasn’t comfortable, but it was far better than the dirt and rocks outside.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep within a few minutes to the sound of the wind outside and the soft noises from the horses down below.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so! I've never really went through with trying to actually write some sort of story, because slow-burn is *not* my strong-suit, but I had so much inspiration for this and I'm actually half proud of it so far. I'm not sure how quickly it'll be updated, but I'll try! I'm still improvising some things and it's not fully fleshed out, but it's getting there, I at least have a basic idea of things.


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